


Bits and Pieces

by IcarusPendragon



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Cocaine, Crack, Drug Addiction, Drug Use, Explicit Language, Heavy Drinking, Methamphetamine, Rehabilitation
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-04
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:44:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,756
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030210
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IcarusPendragon/pseuds/IcarusPendragon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After years of drug and alcohol addiction Dean's trying to get all the millions of little pieces of his life back together.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

I wake up, terrified, to the sound of a plane engine, something wet is dripping down my chin. I lift my hand to feel my face, my body screams in protest. My front four teeth are gone. I have a hole in my cheek, my nose feels broken and my eyes are nearly swollen shut. I try to open them to look at my surroundings. Everything is blurry at first and it takes a few moments for everything to go into focus. I see that I’m in the back of a plane, all alone. My heart drops. I look down at my clothes. They’re covered in a disgusting combination of spit, snot, urine, vomit, and blood. I reach for the call button and push. I wait a full thirty seconds before an attendant shows up.  
“How can I help you?”  
“Where am I going?”  
“You don’t know?”  
“No.”  
“You’re going to Chicago, Sir.”  
I dwell on that for a moment.  
“How did I get here?”  
“A Doctor and two men brought you on here.”  
“They say anything?”  
“They talked to the captain, Sir. We were told to let you sleep.”  
“How long until we land?”  
“About twenty minutes.”  
“Thank you.”  
Although I never look up, I know she smiles and feels sorry for me. She shouldn’t.  
True to her word, a short while later we land, thank God. I look around for anything that I might have with me, but there’s nothing. No tickets, no bags, no clothes, no wallet. I sit and I wait and I try to figure out what happened. Nothing comes.  
Once the rest of the Passengers are gone, I stand and start to slowly make my way to the door. After about five steps I have to sit down again. I’m light-headed. Walking is probably not an option right now. The Attendant from earlier shows up.  
“Are you alright?”  
“No.”  
“What’s wrong?”  
“Other than everything. I can’t really walk.”  
“If you can make it to the door I can get you a chair.”  
“How far to the door?”  
“Not very, Sir.”  
I stand. I wobble. I sit back down. I stare at the floor and take a deep breath.  
“You’ll be alright.”  
I look up at her, she’s smiling.  
“Here.”  
She holds out her hand and I take it. I stand and I lean against her and her and she helps me get down the Aisle towards the Door.  
“I’ll be right back.”  
I let go of her hand and I sit down on the steel bridge of the Jetway that connects the Plane to the Gate.  
“I’m not going anywhere.”  
She laughs.  
I watch her walk away and I close my eyes. My Head hurts, my Mouth hurts, my Eyes hurt, my Hands hurt. Things without Names hurt.  
I rub my stomach. I can feel it coming. Fast and Strong and Burning. No way to stop it, just close your eyes and let it ride. It comes and I recoil from the burn and the stench and the pain. There’s nothing I can do.  
“Oh my God.”  
I open my eyes.  
“I’m alright.”  
“Let me find Doctor.”  
“I’ll be fine. Just get me out of here.”  
“Can you stand?"  
“Yeah, I can stand.”  
I stand and I brush myself off and I wipe my hands on the floor and I sit down in the wheelchair she has brought me. She goes around to the back of the chair and she starts to push.  
“Is someone here for you?”  
“I hope so.”  
“You don’t know?”  
“No.”  
“What if no one’s there?”  
“It’s happened before. I’m sure I’ll manage.”  
We come off the Jetway and into the Gate. Before I have a chance to look around, Bobby and Sam are standing in front of me.  
“Oh Jesus.”  
“Please, Sammy.”  
“What the Hell happened to you, Dean?”  
“I don’t want to talk about it.”  
Bobby walks around to back of my chair. I look for the Attendant, but she’s disappeared. Bless her.  
“You ok?”  
“No, Bobby. I’m not ok.”  
He starts pushing my chair.  
“Do you have bags?”  
“No.”  
People are starting to stare at us.  
“Do you need anything?”  
“I need to get out of here, Bobby, Just get me the fuck out of here.”  
They wheel me to Bobby’s car. I climb/crawl into the backseat. I take my shirt off and I lie down. Bobby starts driving. Sam doesn’t say anything. I fall asleep.  
About four hours later I wake up. My head is clear, but everything throbs. I sit forward and I look out the window. There is no snow on the ground, but I can feel the cold seeping in through the car.  
We’ve pulled into a Gas Station in Wisconsin.  
Bobby opens the Driver’s door and he sits down and closes the door.  
I shiver.  
“You’re awake.”  
“Yeah.”  
“How are you feeling?”  
“Shitty.”  
“Sam’s inside cleaning up a bit and getting supplies. You need anything?”  
“A bottle of water. A couple bottles of wine. A pack of cigs.”  
“Are you serious?”  
“Yeah.”  
“This is bad, Dean.”  
“I need it.”  
“You can’t wait?”  
“No.”  
“Idjit. You’re just going to upset Sam.”  
“I don’t care. I need it.”  
He opens the door and he goes into the Gas station. I lie back down and I stare at the ceiling. I can feel my heart quickening and I hold out my hand and I try to keep it straight. I hope they hurry.  
Twenty minutes later the bottles are gone. I sit up and light a smoke and take a slug of water. Sam turns around.  
“Better?”  
“If you want to put it that way.”  
“We’re going up to the Cabin.”  
“Figures.”  
“We’re going to decide what to do with you when we get there.”  
“ All right.”  
“What do you think?”  
“I don’t want to think right now.”  
“You’re going to have to eventually.”  
“Then I’ll wait ‘till eventually comes.”  
Sam shakes his head and turns back around.  
We head North to the Cabin. Along the way I learn that Sam and Bobby, who have been traveling, received a call at four A.M. From a friend one who was with me at a Hospital. He told them that I had fallen face first down a Fire Escape and he thought they should find me some help. He didn’t know what I was on, but he knew that there was a lot of it and he knew it was bad. So they had driven to Chicago during the night.  
“So what was it?”  
“What was what?”  
“What were you taking?”  
“I’m not sure.”  
“How can you not be sure?”  
“I don’t remember.”  
“What do you remember?”  
“Bits and pieces.”  
“Like what?”  
“I don’t remember.”  
We drive on and after a few hard silent minutes we arrive. We get out of the car and into the House and I take a shower because I need it. When I get out there are some fresh clothes sitting on my bed. I out them on and go into the Living Room. Sam and Bobby are up drinking coffee and talking but when I come in they stop.  
“Hi.”  
Sam looks at me.  
“Feeling better?”  
“No.”  
“You should get some sleep.”  
“I’m gonna.”  
“Good.”  
Bobby and Sam are both looking at me now.  
“I just.”  
I look away.  
“I just, you know.”  
I can’t look at them.  
“I just wanted to say thanks. For picking me up.”  
Silence.  
“I’m gonna go to sleep.”  
“Night.”  
“Night, Dean.”  
I turn and leave the Living Room and I go into the kitchen. I look through the cabinets and I find an unopened half-gallon bottle of whiskey. The first sip brings my stomach back up, but after that it’s all right.  
I go to my room and I drink and I smoke some cigarettes and I think about her. I drink and I smoke and I think and at a certain point blackness comes and my memory fails me.


	2. Chapter 2

Back in the car again with a headache and bad breath. We’re heading North and West to Minnesota. Bobby made some call and got me into a Clinic and I don’t have any other options, so I agree to spend some time there for now.   
My face has gotten worse. It’s horrendously swollen. I have trouble speaking, eating, drinking, smoking. I have yet to look in a mirror.   
We stop in Minneapolis to pick up Jo and Ellen. They sit with me in the backseat. Jo holds my hand and it helps because I’m scared.   
We pull into the Parking Lot and park the car and I finish a bottle and we get out of the car and we start walking toward the Entrance of the Clinic. Me and my brother and Bobby and Jo and Ellen. My entire family. Going into the Clinic. I stop and they stop with me. I stare at the Buildings. Low and long and connected. Functional. Simple. Menacing.   
I want to run or die or get fucked up. I want to be blind and dumb and have no heart. I want to crawl in a hole and never come out. I want to wipe my existence straight off the map. Straight off the fucking map. I take a deep breath.   
“Let’s go.”  
We enter a small Waiting Room. A woman sits behind a desk reading a fashion magazine. She looks up.   
“May I help you?”  
Bobby steps forward to speak with her while the rest of us take a seat.   
I’m shaking. My Hands, my Legs, my Lips, my Everything shaking for any number of reasons.   
Bobby walks back over to us and kneels down so that he’s on my level.   
“They’re going to check you in now.”  
“All right.”   
“You’re gonna be fine boy. This is a good place. This is the best place.”  
“That’s what they tell me.”  
“You ready?”  
“Does it really matter?”  
We all stand and go to the door. And whort man is standing there.   
“I’m sorry, but you have to leave him here.”  
Jo looks like she’s going to cry. Bobby nods. Nobody else does anything.   
“We’ll check him in and you can call him later to make sure he’s all right.”  
Sam looks at me intently.   
“Don’t worry, he’s in the right place.”  
I turn to look at them all. Then one by one they hug me. Each hug more awkward for me than the last. I know it means a lot to them so I don’t let go until they let go. Once everyone has had their turn I walk through the door without a word. The man shuts the door and just like that, my family is gone.  
“Hi.”  
“Hello.”  
“How are you?”  
“How do I look?”  
“Not good.”  
“I feel worse.”  
“You name is Dean. You’re twenty-four. You live in Kansas.””Yeah.”  
“You’re going to be staying with us for a while. Is that ok?””For now.”  
“Do you know anything about this Facility?”  
“No.”  
“Do you want to know anything?”  
“I don’t really care.”  
He just looks at me.   
“We are the oldest Residential Drug and Alcohol Treatment Facility in the World. We were founded in 1943 in an old house that sat on the land, where these buildings, thirty-two interconnected one’s, sit now. We have treated over twenty thousand Patients. We have the highest success rate of any Facility in the World. At any given time, there are anywhere form two hundred and two hundred and fifty Patients spread through six units, three of which house men and three of which house women. We believe that Patients should stay here for as long as a term that they need. Not something as specific as a twenty-eight-day program. Although it is expensive to come here, many of the Patients here are here on Scholarships that we fund and through subsidies that we support. We have and endowment of several hundred million dollars. We not only treat Patients, we are also one of the leading Research and Educational Institutions in the field of Addiction Studies. You should consider yourself fortunate to be here and you should be excited to start a new chapter in your life.”  
I stare at the man. I do not speak. He stares back at me, waiting for something to be said.   
“You ready to get started?”I don’t smile.   
“Sure.”  
He gets up and I get up and we walk down a hall. He talks and I don’t.   
“The doors are always open here, so if yo want to leave, you can. Substance use is no allowed and if you’re caught you will be sent Home. You are not allowed to say anything more than a hello to any women aside from Doctors, Nurses or Staff Members. Romantic relationships of any kind, no matter the sex, are forbidden. There are other rules, but those are the only one’s that matter right now.”  
We walk through a door into the Medical Wing. There are small Rooms and Doctors and Nurses and a Pharmacy. The cabinets have huge steel locks on the doors. He shows me to a Room. It has a bed and a desk and a chair and a closet and a window. Everything is white.   
He stand at the door and I sit on the bed.  
“A Nurse will be here in a few minutes to speak with you.”  
“Fine.”  
“You feel ok?”  
“No, I feel like shit.”  
“It’ll get better,”  
“Yeah.”  
“Trust me.”   
“Yeah.”  
The man leaves and he shuts the door and I’m alone. My feet bounce, I touch my face, i run my tongue along my gums. I’m cold and getting colder. I hear someone scream.   
The door opens and a Nurse walks in the Room. She wears all white, just like the walls, and she carries a clipboard.  
She sits in the chair by the desk.   
“Hi, Dean.”  
“Hi.”   
“I need to ask you some questions.”  
“All right.”  
“I also need to check your vitals.”  
“All right.”  
“What type of substances do you use?”  
“Alcohol.”  
“Every day?”  
“Yes.”  
“What time do you start drinking?”  
“When I wake up.”  
She marks it down.   
“How much per day?”  
“As much as I can.”  
“How much is that?”  
“Enough to make myself look like this.”She looks at me. She marks it down.  
“Do you use anything else?”  
“Cocaine.”  
“How often?””Every day.”  
She marks it down.   
“How much?”  
“As much as I can get.”  
She marks it down.   
“In what form?”  
“Lately, crack. But over the years, in every form that it exists.”  
She marks that down.   
“Anything else?”  
“Pills, acid, mushrooms, meth, PCP, and glue.”  
Marks it down.   
“How often?”  
“When I have it.”  
“How often?”  
“A few times a week.”  
Marks it down.   
She moves forward and draws a stethoscope.   
“How are you feeling?”  
“Terrible.”  
“In what way?”  
“In every way.”  
She reaches for my shirt.   
“Do you mind.”  
“No.”  
She lifts my shirt and put the stethoscope to my chest. She listens.   
“Breathe deeply.”  
She listens.   
“Do it again.”  
She lowers my shirt and she pulls away and she marks it all down.   
“Thank you.”  
I smile.   
“Are you cold?”  
“Yes.”  
She has a blood pressure gauge,  
“Do you feel nauseous?”  
“Yes.”  
She straps it on my arm. It hurts. I’m used to pain by now though.   
“When was the last time you used?”  
She pumps it.   
“A little while ago.”  
“What and how much?”  
“I drank a bottle of vodka.”  
“How does it compare to your normal daily dosage?”  
“It doesn’t.”  
She watches the gauge and the dials move and she marks it down and she removes the gauge.   
“I’m gonna leave for a while, but I’ll be back.”  
I stare at the wall.   
“We need to monitor you carefully and we will probably need to give you some detoxification drugs.”  
I see a shadow and I think it moves but I’m not sure.   
“You’re fine right now, but I think you’ll start to feel some things.”  
I see another one. I hate it.   
“If you need anything, just give me a call.”  
I hate it.   
She stands up and she smiles at me and then she leaves the Room.   
I take my shoes off and I lie on top on my blankets even though I am cold. I close my eyes and then I fall asleep.   
I wake up and I start to shiver and I curl up and I flench my Fists. Sweat rums down my Chest, my Arms, the Backs of my Legs. It stings my Face.   
I sit up and I hear someone moan. I see a bug in the corner and it’s huge and it’s ugly and I know it’s not really there. The walls close in and expand the close in and they expand and I can hear them. I cover my ears, but it’s not enough,   
I stand. I look around me. I don’t know anything. Where I am, why, what happened, how to escape, what my Name is, my Life.   
I curl up on the floor and I am crushed by images and sounds. Things I have seen or heard or even knew that existed. They come from the ceiling, the door, the window, the desk, the chair, the bed. They’re coming from the fucking closet. Dark shadows and Bright lights and Flashes of blue and yellow and red as deep as the red of my blood. They move toward me and they scream at me and I don’t know what they are but I know they’re helping the bugs. They’re screaming at me.   
I start shaking. Shaking shaking shaking. My entire Body is shaking and sweating and it stings. My heart is racing. The bugs crawl onto my skin and they star biting me and I try to kill them. I claw at my skin, leaving bloody trails. I tear at my hair and I start biting at myself only I don’t have any teeth and there are shadows and Bright lights and Flashes and screams and bugs bugs bugs. I am lost. I am completely fucking lost.   
I scream.   
I piss on myself.   
I shit my pants.  
The Nurse returns and she call for help and Men in White come in and they put me on the bed and they hold me there. I try and kill the bugs but I can’t move so they live. In me. On me. I feel the stethoscope and the gauge and they stick a needle in my arm and they hold me down.   
I am blinded by the Darkness.   
I am Gone.


	3. Chapter 3

I sit in the chair by the window, looking at the stairs. It was something Sammy and me used to do. I miss Sammy.  
It’s dark and it’s late and I can’t sleep anymore. The drugs are wearing off.  
The Nurse comes back in.  
“Can’t sleep?”  
She checks my vitals.  
“No.”  
“We have a lounge. It has a TV.”  
She hands me some pills and a robe and some slippers.  
“And you can smoke there.”  
She hands me a pack of cigarettes.  
“I hope these are ok.”  
I don’t say anything, but accept everything.  
“Get changed and I’ll show you where it’s at.”  
I still don’t say anything, she leaves the room. I take the pills and I change into the robe and when I open the door, she’s waiting for me.  
We go to the Lounge. A television, two couches, an easy chair, some vending machines, a coffee maker. The TV is on.  
“You want a Coke?”  
I sit down in the chair.  
“No. But I’ll take a few beers, if you have them.”  
She just stares at me.  
“No, I’m fine. Thank you.”  
She asks if I need anything else and I say no and then she leaves me to the TV. I can feel the pills she gave me kicking in. I watch television but nothing registers. I smoke a cigarette. It burns.  
A man walks in. He walks up to me and he stands in front of me.  
“Hey, Buddy.”  
His voice is Deep and Dark.  
“Hey, Buddy.”  
Tacks crisscross his forearms.  
Scars run the length of his wrists and down his arms. I have some like them.  
“I’m talking to you.”  
I look in his Eyes. They’re blank.  
“What?”  
He points at the chair I’m sitting in.  
“That’s my chair.”  
I turn back to the television.  
“That’s my chair.”  
The pills are kicking in.  
“Hey, Buddy, that’s my chair.”  
Nothing registers.  
“HEY, ASSHOLE. THAT’S MY FUCKING CHAIR.”  
I watch TV and he’s breathing heavy and the Nurse comes in.  
“Is there a problem?”  
“This Asshole is in my chair.”  
“Then why don’t you sit on the couch?”  
“Because. I don’t like the fucking couch. I like this goddamn chair.”  
“Dean is in the chair. There’s the couch, or the floor, or you can leave. You decide.”  
“Fuck Dean. Make him move.”  
“Do you want me to call Security?”  
“No.”  
“Then you decide. Couch, floor, or leave.”  
He walks to the couch and he sits down on it. The Nurse watches him.  
“Thank you.”  
He laughs and she leaves and we’re alone and I’m watching television and smoking a cigarette. He stares at me and he chews his nails and he spits them and me and the pills are settling in and the bugs are leaving me and I don’t care.  
Nothing registers.  
I watch the television. Everything slows down. Slows down beyond recognition.  
The image blurs, the voices fade. There is no action and no noise. Just flickering Lights and a symphony of withered voices. I stare at the Lights, I listen to the voices. I want them to go away and they won’t.  
My Eyelids fall. I try to bring them back up but they don’t. My musclse go limp and I slide out of the chair and onto the floor. I don’t like the floor and I don’t want to be on the floor but I can’t stop myself. As I slide, the fabric of the chair is coarse and my robe is stringy and they get caught together and my robe hikes up at my waist. I try to pull it down. But I cannot move. My mind isn’t work. The robe stays in place.  
The man stops spitting his nails at me and he stands and he walks toward me and I can see him coming through the slitted lines that are my Eyes. I know that he can do whatever he wants to me. I know that I am helpless to stop him. I know that he is angry and know from his tracks and his scars and his Eyes he will probably express that anger through some sort of violence. With each step he takes the situation become more clear in my broken mind. Helpless to stop him. Helpless.  
He stands over me and he stares at me.  
“You are one pretty Motherfucker.”  
I try to say something back. I can only grunt.  
“I could kick your ass right now if I felt like it. Hell, I could even fuck the shit out of you I wanted to. Beat you bloody then fuck what’s left.”  
My body is limp.  
“But all I want right now is the fucking chair.”  
My mind is not working.  
“And I’m gonna fucking take it.”  
He reaches out and he grips my wrists and he drags me along the floor.  
He drags me away from the chair and into the corner of the Room and he leaves me laying face down. He leans over and puts his lips next to my ear.  
“I could have beat the shit out of you, you Son of a Bitch. Just remember that.”  
Then he sticks his tongue in my ear and laughs.  
He leaves and I can hear him sit down in his chair and start changing the channels on the television. There is a sports program, an infomercial about hair growth, a show about two brothers who hunt monsters. He stops on that one and he laughs when he’s supposed to and he gasps when he’s supposed to and he mutters things to himself the entire, mainly about how he’d like to fuck the angel on the show. I lie facedown on the floor.  
I am awake, but I am unable to move.  
My heart beats so loud I can see it.  
The tile is cold and hard. You’d think that after me laying there for so long that it would heat up, but no.  
A gunshot is fired and a monster screams and it’s so loud I can feel it.  
I am awake but unable to move.  
I fade.  
I fade.  
I fade.  
Morning comes and when I wake up I am able to move and I stand I look for the man. He’s gone, but my memory isn’t and won’t be for a long time. It has always been a bad habit.  
Remembering.  
I go to my Room and when I open the door I see an Orderly setting a tray of food on the desk. He looks at me and he smiles.  
I do not understand why so many people smile here. It is not a very happy place.  
“Good morning.”  
“Good morning.”  
“I brought you some breakfast. We thought you might be hungry.”  
“Thank you.”  
I’ve been saying thank you a lot recently, but not really meaning it.  
“If you want anything else, just call.”  
I don’t see why everyone is so willing to help me when I’m not ever sure if i want to help myself.  
“Thank you.”  
He leaves and I look at the food. Eggs, bacon. Toast, potatoes. A glass of water and a glass of orange juice. I don’t want to eat but I know I should so I go to the chair and I sit down and I look at the food and then I feel my Face. Everything is still swollen. I touch my Lips and they crack. I open my Mouth and they bleed. I close my Mouth and they drip. I don’t want to eat but I know I should.  
I reach for the glass of water and take a sip. It’s too cold, so I set it back down.  
I reach for the glass of orange juice and I take and sip and it burns too bad so I set it back down as well.  
I try to use the fork, but it does too much damage.  
I break up the toast and i push the pieces down my throat with my fingers.  
I do the same with the potatoes and the eggs and the bacon. I drink the water, but not the juice. I lick my fingers clean.  
When I’m done I go to the Bathroom and I vomit. I try to stop it, but I can’t. About half the food comes up and so does blood and bile. I am happy that I have kept half the food. That is more than I normally keep.  
As I walk to my bed, a Doctor comes into the Room. He smiles. I still do not understand all the smiling.  
“Hi.”  
He’s wearing a name tag, but I can’t read it.  
“I’m Doctor Baker.”  
We shake hands.  
“I’m going to be working with you today.”  
I sit down on the edge of my bed.  
“Are you okay with that?”  
He looks at my Face, but not my Eyes.  
“Yeah.”  
I look at his Eyes.  
“How are you feeling?”  
His eyes are kind, like my dad’s before Mom died.  
“I feel like I’m tired of that question.”  
He laughs.  
“I bet you are.”  
I just look at him.  
He hands me some pills. They are called Librium and Diazepam. I take them  
“They’re detoxification drugs and important medically because they stabilize your heart. Keep your blood pressure in check and help you ease through withdrawal. Without them you could suffer a stroke or a heart attack. Or both.”  
He leans forward and looks me in the Eyes, then he looks at my Cheek.  
“You’ll be taking them every four hours, in decreasing doses, for the next five days.”  
I look at his Eyes.  
“We’re going to take some tests, and start working on a Program for you.”  
“Okay.”  
“First though, we need to try and fix you up a bit.”  
We go to a Room. It has a bright fluorescent Light and a large surgical bed and boxes of supplies. I sit on the bed and he puts on a pair of latex gloves and he examines my Cheek. He picks away the scabs. He opens my Mouth. His Finger fits through the hole. He gets a needle and some string and he tells me to clench my Fists and close my Eyes. I leave them open and I watch as the needle runs through. Inside and out. My Cheek, my Lip, my Mouth. Forty-one times.  
We’re through and he’s on the phone with a Surgical Dentist and I’m sitting on the bed and I’m shaking from the pain.  
He sets a date and hangs up the phone and he starts washing his Hands.  
“We’re gonna take you into Town in a couple of days the get your teeth looked at. I know the dentist and he’ll take good care of you.”  
I touch my tongue to the remains of my teeth and pain shoots through my Mouth.  
“You’ll look as good as new.”  
I doubt that.  
“Don’t worry.”  
He puts on a new pair of gloves and he turns around.  
“Now I need to check you Nose.”  
I take a deep breath . He steps forward and he starts looking at my Nose.  
He touches it and I cringe. I can no longer feel my Cheek.  
“This is bad.” ”I know.”  
“I gonna have to break it and reset it.”  
“I know.”  
“The sooner the better. We can wait if you want, though.”  
“The sooner the better,”  
“Okay.”He spreads his Feet and he firms himself and he puts both of his Hands on my Nose. I grab the sides of the bed and I close my Eyes and I wait.  
“You ready?”  
“No. I’m not. Just get it over with.”  
He jerks his Hands and there is and audible crack.  
The only besides the pain I can register is someone screaming “Son of a Bitch.”  
I think it might be me, but I’m not sure.  
Cold white Light shoots through my Eyes and through my Spine and into my Feet and back again. My Eyes are closed but I’m crying. Blood is streaming from my nostrils.  
“Now I have to set it.”  
He moves his Hands to the side and I can feel the Cartilage move with him. He moves them again. I can feel it. He preses up and it seems to fit. I can feel it.  
“There.”  
He reaches for some tape and I open my Eyes. He puts the tape across the bridge of my Nose and it holds it all in place. It feels solid.  
He grabs a towel and he wipes the blood from my Face and my Neck and I stare at the wall. My Face is throbbing and I’m squeezing the side of the bed and it hurts my Hands. I want to let go, but I can’t.  
“You all right?”  
“No.”  
“I can’t give you any painkillers.”  
“I know.”  
“The detox meds should take the edge off. But you’re still gonna hurt.”  
“I’m used to it by now.”  
“I’ll get you a new robe.”  
I look down at mine.  
It’s covered in blood.  
He steps back and he throws the towel in the garbage ban and he leaves. I let go of the bed and I hold my Hands in front of my Face and I stare at them. They shake. I shake.  
The Doctor comes back in with a Nurse and they help me change and they tell me about the tests they’re going to give me. Blood, urine, stool. They need to know how much damage I’ve done to my insides. The thought revolts me.  
We leave and go to a different Room that also has a Bathroom. I pee in a cup. I shit in a plastic container. Take a needle in my arm. It’s simple and it’s easy and it’s painless.  
We emerge and the Unit is busy. Patients wait in line for drugs. Doctors go from Room to Room. Nurses carry bottles and tubes. There is noise, but everything is quite.  
I go to my Room with the Doctor and I sit on the bed. He sits in the chair and he writes on a chart. He finishes writing and he looks at me.  
“Except for the Dentist, the worst of everything is over.”  
I doubt that, but I don’t say anything.  
“I’m going to put you on two hundred a fifty milligrams of Amoxycillin, three times a day. This will prevent any possible infection.  
“Okay.”  
“Go to the Dispensary and they’ll give them to you, or if you forget, a Nurse will come and find you.”  
“Okay.”  
“Thank you for dealing this morning.”  
“No problem.”  
“Good luck.”  
“I’m going to need it.”  
He stands and I stand and we shake Hands and he leaves. I go to the Dispensary and I stand in line. A man, about my age, stands in front of me. He turns around and looks at my face. He speaks.  
“Hi.”  
“Hi.” He holds out his Hand.  
“I’m Castiel.”  
I take it. It’s soft and warm.  
“I’m Dean.”  
I don’t want to let go. It’s been so long since I felt something warm, but I let go anyways. We step forward.  
“What happened?”  
“I don’t remember.”  
“You blacked out?”  
“Yeah.”  
He grimaces.  
“Yeah.”  
We step forward.  
“When did you get here?”  
”Yesterday.”  
“As did I.”  
This guy is clearly educated. I don’t know why he would throw his life away for this.  
Castiel is next in line and he gets his meds and he takes them. He turns around to me and says goodbye. And just like that. He’s gone.  
I take his place and the Nurse asks my name.  
“Dean Winchester.”  
She looks at a chart and she goes to a cabinet and she gets some pills and she hands them to me with a cup of water.  
I take the pills.  
I drink the water.  
I go to my room and I fall asleep and I spend the rest of the day sleeping and shoving food down my Throat and waiting in line and taking pills.


End file.
